Freedom Fighters: Mikey
by Ferrebee
Summary: Short story on a Freedom Fighter. M for some violence and a wee bit of swearing.


The mist of hot breath vapored right in front of his eyes as he took deep, long breaths, trying to calm himself as he crouched behind a pillar. What had happened was too close for comfort. That Russian had seen him plant the det charge on the fuel tank, and he ran to go call for backup. Mikey didn't allow it. He quickly rose the old M1 to his shoulder, and squeezed off 2 rounds, both piercing through the red's chest. The blood had started to quickly flood out of the cadaver's body, twitching all the while it did so. The gunshot attracted a patrol that had been moving nearby. With his heart full of fear and worry, Mikey quickly turned and ran, hiding behind the pillar.

Shouts of Russian echoed through the empty streets, a result of the enforced curfew that had been in effect since the start of this mess. Mikey remembered it all too well. 18 and fresh out of high school, jumped into the Marine Corps, and escaped the mass executions with a few other recruits. They had only gone through the basics of cleaning, maintaining and firing a rifle. Not so much marksmanship. He had to learn that on his own. Tweaking his firing style so that he could get his shots dead-center of a red's head. Why he was doing this Solo, he wouldn't know why. But he knew its intent. Cut off the red's fuel supply, so that they'd have to resort to foot patrols. That way, when other freedom fighters would go out to complete assigned missions, they'd be able to scrounge up more equipment for other men and women who needed it. Quietly, he looked up to the autumn leaves that were still falling this late at night. Chicago was never this cold before, and he knew that the winter would be a deadly one.

He remembered the moving speech the "Freedom Phantom" had given at that New York Building. He remembered seeing it on the H.Q's television. They were all sitting around it, somewhat captivated, and very much motivated. That next day, they had all gone out and raided a supply camp, taking what they needed, and torched the camp. He remembered the warmth from the flames that seeped down into the abandoned speak-easys and sewers...

A lot warmer than freezing rain and cold gusts now. Mikey stood up and leaned over, seeing that the russians were still investigating the area. He took one more breath and held it for a second, before slinging his rifle on his shoulder, and pulling out his Colt revolver. He pulled the hammer back halfway to arm it, and then leaned over as silently as possible, taking aim at the furthest man. He then gently squeezed the trigger until the explosion of the .45 cartridge zipped through the air, the round piercing the soldier in his right eye, the blood pouring out of the wound like a ripe watermelon. The rest of the patrol turned in alarm, seeing that their comrade was dead. Now was his chance. Mikey unslung the rifle and took aim, now taking shots at the backs of their necks, and their backs. As the last round popped out with the resounding -CHING-, so did the last soldier. Silence fell as Mikey quickly ran up to the corpses and began procuring an AK-74, pocketing the clips in his outside rucksack pockets. He then ditched the M1, hiding it in an ally, befrore returning to the Det charge he was working on before this entire chain of events had taken place.

Crouching down, he twisted the timer cap, set it for 20 seconds, and began to sprint, his boots kicking up freezing water as he extended his stride, turning the corner, before slipping on the wet road, sliding onto his hip, and into the curb. Quickly, he got up, and looked at his watch...

...10 more seconds...

Mikey ran harder, his lungs filling with the chilling cold air, forcing him to cough a bit as he turned into an ally, and crouched behind a dumpster.

"3...2..."

The explosion lit up the block, as flames rained down and torched anything immediately flammable, including fuel drums and uncovered munitions. The sky was filled with light, and Mikey smiled a bit. He then stood back up and began sprinting down the ally, running up to an old fire escape ladder, climbing up to the rooftop of some building he really didn't give a damn about. He was intent on getting back home without running into any more confrontation from the russians. Unfortunately, the patrols started to storm the streets from the nearby barracks, vehicles and attack dogs galore. Luckily, Mikey was on the rooftop at this point, and was now crossing one building to another. The speak-easy was only another street away. Trying to calm his mind, he tried to remember pieces of that speech he heard only a week before...

"New Yorkers...Fellow Americans...I am Chris Stone, the so-called "Freedom Phantom". I stand before you today, a free man...And I vow to die a free man. Like you, my world was shattered 8 long months ago. I watched as my family and friends were tortured, captured, and killed. I have nothing left of my former life, except the hope for a better future. A better future for our children! The American dream! I, for one, still believe in that dream! We've read this in our schoolbooks as children, now is the time to embrace those ideals, and stand up against the weight of tyrrany! We have a duty to ourselves to throw off our oppressors. When I look upon this city, I do not see smouldering ruins. No, Instead, I see a sleeping army, ready to awaken! The world is watching us now! How we respond, will prove our claim! I stand before you and the world today, to re-affirm the pledge our forefathers made to each other, and for each of us...To protect our lives, our fortunes, and our self-worth! So I ask you now, to take up arms against the evil invaders, and yell in their faces that they will NEVER TAKE OUR FREEDOM!"

As he remembered the speech verbatum, he smiled a bit more, remembering why he did this to begin with. It was the right thing to do. Standing up against what he felt was wrong. That was his American freedom. He climbed down the ladder, and reached the speak-easy entrance, sneaking inside and closing the door as quickly as he could. Silently, he looked at the others, still asleep in their bunks, and he smiled. He remembered, 8 months ago, how he was wondering if his sweetheart would write to him while he was away. 8 months ago, he never thought he would sleep on a cold cot every night, with his weapon at his side, just in case someone tried to break in.

Just then, a hand rested on his shoulder. "Everything went smoothly"

For a moment, Mikey only looked at the hand and nodded slightly. He was looking forward to the cold months. "...Yeah. Real smooth."


End file.
